


I Make the Moves Up as I Go

by mutuisanimis



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Accidental Kissing, Baking, M/M, mentions of Johnson and the frogs, playlist included
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-13 20:35:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3395498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mutuisanimis/pseuds/mutuisanimis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Congrats, Bits,” says Lardo. “You did something stupid and/or really brave and it worked out for you. Now take your nice new boyfriend back upstairs and let the rest of us get some coffee.”</i>
</p><p>In which Jack and Bitty are the only ones surprised when things work out in their favor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Make the Moves Up as I Go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iridescentOracle (iridescentOwl)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iridescentOwl/gifts).



> This is a gift for my dear friend Jenny, born from yet another of our impromptu chatfics. It is entirely her fault that I'm in this fandom, so.
> 
> Many thanks to her and [muse_in_absentia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/muse_in_absentia) for the beta work! Title from Taylor Swift's "Shake It Off".
> 
> Thanks also to Ngozi for creating this awesome comic and for answering my silly asks.

Sunday mornings are a magical time. While there is a not-insignificant part of one Georgia-born hockey player that still wakes up most Sundays torn between relief that he’s not going to church with his parents and regret for the same, most weeks he pushes it to the side, setting that particular internal conflict on the back burner in favor of breakfast pastries. 

Sunday mornings are a magical time because quite often he gets to be alone in the kitchen of the Haus. Sunday mornings on a college campus, it’s been said, are like midnight anywhere else. Nearly everyone is asleep, or wishing they were, and as such, no one ventures far from their beds. 

So on Sunday mornings, Eric Bittle communes with whatever God may or may not exist by making breakfast. 

When there is a game on Monday or an extra practice Sunday afternoon, he makes eggs and sausage so that it can’t be said anyone is skimping on protein. When he’s tired or just can’t procrastinate his schoolwork any longer, he makes pancakes, because they are quick and easy. When it’s midterms and he knows people will be running around the Haus all week like chickens with their heads cut off, he makes loaf after loaf of banana, zucchini, and pumpkin breads so that they all can grab a slice on their way out the door, or whatever, whenever. 

And on days like today, when his next unfinished assignment isn’t due til Tuesday, and their first game this week isn’t til Wednesday, and he has the time to be creative… Well, he gets creative. Every recipe comes out of nowhere from someone’s head, right? And he knows that in this Haus, none of it will go to waste, even if his creation’s not really a keeper. 

_/\\_ _/\\_

Bitty’s alarm goes off at 8:30, and he snoozes it only once. He’s had a new muffin idea rattling around his brain since yesterday morning, and if he doesn’t get a move on, he won’t have time for a test batch before his teammates start wandering in. He crawls out of bed, tucks Señor Bunny under the covers, and pulls a hoodie on over his pajama shirt before heading downstairs. He’ll warm up and take it off again soon enough, once he’s moving around and the oven is on, but even late March in Massachusetts is much colder than he thinks it has any right to be. Hasn’t this dumb state heard of springtime? 

He pulls his phone off the charger and digs through his backpack for a pair of headphones. Sunday mornings are the only time he doesn’t blast his music over the speakers in the kitchen. It’s mostly out of respect for his sleeping housemates, plus not wanting them to come bother him before the food is ready, but it’s also nice, just him and the music and the food on the counter. It’s kind of like psyching himself up for a hockey game, but instead just psyching himself up for the week. Some weeks it’s more necessary than others. 

Earbuds in, he walks quietly past Jack and Shitty’s rooms to the stairs and doesn’t start whispering over Tswift that the “bakers gonna bake, bake, bake, bake, bake” until he’s alone in the kitchen pulling muffin tins and mixing bowls out of the cupboard. 

P!nk asks him why he’s so serious as he preheats Betsy, and while he mixes the basic batter Fun. tells him that they are all shining stars. While he experiments with different flavor options, Pentatonix and Lindsey Stirling welcome him to the new age, and Pumba and Timon inform him that “hakuna matata” means no worries. He relinquishes the first tray of muffins to Betsy’s loving care to the sound of ELO welcoming him to the human race. 

He looks out the window and bids his own greeting to Mr. Blue Sky while he waits for the first tray to come out of the oven—gotta see if they’re even any good before he makes up a dozen more—then decides to get the big old coffee pot going, dancing along as Queen Bey warns him that if he liked it then he shoulda put a ring on it. 

He loses the hoodie and checks the muffins, which look good, but they’re not done yet. Owl City and Carly Rae explain that it’s always a good time, and he dances as he puts away the dishes from the drying rack. 

Tegan and Sara remind him that everything is awesome, and he laughs because he can just hear Shitty explaining that that song was tantamount to brainwashing and was really kinda creepy. But creepy context or no, Bitty loves this song. Everything _is_ cool when you’re part of a team—a team that actually values you. 

He’s too hungry to wait for the muffins, so he digs around in the fridge for an orange. Ke$ha calls him a superstar while he peels and eats it, and when Nicki says she’s on the floor and loves to dance, he dances right along with her. 

As Elphaba reminds him that it’s too late to go back to sleep, he eyes Holster’s Keurig machine and decides to treat himself to a mug of caramel-flavored coffee to start off the week. (Somehow, despite everyone’s love of his baking, Bitty is the only one in the Haus who ever wants sugar or flavor in his coffee. They’re all boring.) He grabs the K-cup from his private stash, sticks it into the machine, then retrieves the warm tray of muffins from Betsy and sets them on the stovetop to cool. 

Katy Perry is just starting to ask him if he ever feels like a plastic bag when he hears the creak of the kitchen floor behind him and feels his earbuds being tugged out of his ears. 

“Morning, Bittle.” Jack greets him in a quiet, sleepy voice that makes Bitty’s stomach give a little flip. (Bitty has given up trying to prevent such reactions.) “Thanks for starting the coffee.” 

“Sure thing,” Bitty replies, as he collects his earbuds and hangs them around his neck so they don’t get stepped on. He is starting to wiggle a muffin out of the tray to try it when the music is replaced by the sound of a mug being filled, then the all-important first sip being taken. He leaves the muffin and reaches for his own mug from the Keurig machine and takes a sip as well, smiling a good morning to Jack over the rim of it. Jack’s eyes are only half open, and his T-shirt and pajama pants are twisted up like he came straight to the kitchen on autopilot. 

Jack swallows and lowers his cup, gesturing at the stove. “Am I allowed to have a muffin yet, or…?” Bitty lets his eyes follow Jack’s Adam’s apple for just a moment, then turns back to the stove with a little bit of a start. “Yes! Absolutely.” He wiggles the muffin all the way out. “It’s a new recipe, so let me know how you like it, alright?” 

He sets the muffin on a plate and turns to hand it to Jack, but Jack’s coffee is on the counter and Jack himself is crouched in front of an open cupboard door just below it, rummaging around inside. 

“Didn’t we have bananas in here?” Jack demands. His voice is so low and gravelly in the mornings, it’s really not fair, Bitty thinks. 

“I thought so,” Bitty agrees, stepping over to set the muffin next to Jack’s coffee. “Maybe Holster ate the rest of them. There was only one or two left, I think.” 

The plate is on the counter and Bitty is back to the stove to get a muffin for himself by the time he realizes what he’s done. 

Dear Lord, _what has he done?_

He had set the plate on the counter, and then his brain-to-mouth filter must have just magically vanished like some kind of Harry Potter crap or something because he’s pretty sure the phrase “Here you go, darlin’” left his lips without his permission, and not before said lips _pressed themselves against the top of Jack’s head??_

In a word, _shit._

As he is busily removing the other muffins from the tray and studiously not turning back around he hears the sound of retreating footsteps and slowly starts to breathe again. Dear Lord. Maybe he’s dreaming? Maybe he’ll wake up in a minute and none of this will have happened? Maybe he’s not dreaming but didn’t actually do that? Maybe he just fell asleep here on his feet for like, a second, and his brain dreamt all that but now he’s awake? 

But he can still smell Jack’s hair and feel it on his face and lips, and he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t dreamed about things like that once or twice, but those details were never there, and… 

He sighs. He picks his earbuds up from around his neck and slips them into his ears, intending to block out for a few more minutes what is apparently his real life. He rips them back out immediately. 

Really? He didn’t pause the music after Jack pulled his earbuds out, and when he puts them back in, Sara Bareilles is instructing him to show her how big his brave is and say what he wants to say? _Really?_ This whole universe and its stupid musical coincidences can go to hell. 

His phone buzzes. Can this please be an urgent demand for him to be… _anywhere_ that is not the Haus right now? 

> _**From: Johnson**  
>  The music coincidences are an important plot device. Remember, it’s time to trust your instincts, close your eyes, and leap. Don’t worry, you’re doing fine._

What. 

> _**To: Johnson**  
>  ?????????????? What the hell is with you??_
> 
> _**To: Johnson**  
>  [sigh] I’m sorry, Johnson, I didn’t mean to yell at you. But you’ve got some really weird timing and HOW do you know what music I’m listening to?_
> 
> _**To: Johnson**  
>  Also you realize Elphaba dies in the end, right? Not sure I should be following her example…_

His phone buzzes again a moment later. 

> _**From: Johnson**  
>  We *all* die in the end, Bitty._

He waits a minute to see if Johnson will say anything further, but he doesn’t, so Bitty takes a couple deep breaths, makes sure the music is off this time, and shoves his phone and earbuds in his pocket with more force than was maybe strictly necessary. He splashes his face with some water from the sink for good measure. 

Boards above him creak as people start walking around upstairs, which means they will be down for breakfast soon, which means he should probably not look like he’s on the verge of melting through the floor or something. Lord. He takes some more careful breaths. It’s going to be fine. For now, he’s going to go with the “I must have imagined that” scenario and carry on with his life. 

He picks up his coffee again and almost burns himself as he takes too big a sip. God, what is this day?? It’s like ten a.m. There is no reason for so many things to be happening. 

He sets the mug on the table and goes to get himself a muffin. He deserves like three of these by this point, but he’ll start with one. In current circumstances, he wouldn’t be surprised if they turned out to be horrendous, honestly. 

The last few muffins come out of the tin without much trouble, and he puts them into the bowl with the others, save the last one which goes onto a plate for himself. He takes it to the table and sinks down into the chair in front of his coffee. The muffin crumbles completely when he bites into it—way too dry, he thinks—but it tastes alright. In fact, it tastes pretty darn good. He’ll need to find some more flavor variations, but this general concept will definitely work. 

He polishes off the rest of the muffin mostly by mashing crumbs together with his fingers and trying not to drop them before they get to his mouth, but by the end of the muffin and his cup of coffee, he’s feeling considerably better. 

He’s just started mixing up a second batch of batter (moister this time) when Ransom and Holster shuffle in, clad also in messy pajamas and grumbling at each other about something Bitty doesn’t quite catch. 

“Hey Bits,” says Ransom’s voice just behind him. “Muffins today?” 

“Yep!” Oh God, he doesn’t sound _too_ cheerful, right? Hopefully they’re not awake enough to notice. “Uhh, they’re a new recipe and kinda crumbly so you’ll have to be careful…” 

They don’t seem to be listening, though. Bitty turns around and sees Holster digging through the fridge and Ransom rooting around through the same cupboard Jack was at. Ugh. 

“Weren’t there bananas in here?” Ransom asks. 

Holster leans back from the fridge. “Oh, my bad, bro. I used the last two in a smoothie yesterday. They were pretty soft anyhow.” 

“It’s fine, man,” says Ransom. “Are there any oranges in the fridge, then?” He moves to look over Holster’s shoulder as Bitty hears Shitty coming down the stairs. 

Bitty has gotten all the components for a second batch of muffins together and is just about to start dipping the batter into the cups of the muffin tin when he hears not just Shitty, but Shitty _and_ Lardo _and_ Jack wishing everyone a good morning, and it takes all he has not to spill muffin batter everywhere. 

“Hey Shitty, hey Lardo!” Bitty offers over his shoulder, hoping again that he doesn’t sound too forcefully cheerful and feeling very much less than successful. 

Their return greetings are kind of drowned out by Jack’s voice, though. “Bittle, these muffins are amazing. Is there _pie filling_ at the center of them??” Bitty’s brain can’t decide whether to preen at the compliment or go to pieces entirely because Jack is back and talking to him like Jack doesn’t hate him, but it doesn’t end up mattering because— 

What. 

Suddenly Jack is just behind him, reaching around him to grab the muffin bowl, and 

What??? 

Bitty is 98% certain that Jack Zimmermann just kissed his cheek, and 100% certain that the room just got dead silent. Dear Lord, how is this real? How is this not a dream? This morning was supposed to be about pie muffins, not…this?? 

Bitty decides to keep spooning the batter into the new muffin tray. 

Lardo is the first to recover and start talking again, with Shitty close on her heels. 

“Hold up, since when is _this_ a thing?” asks Lardo, and Bitty can honestly hear the sly smile on her face and he wants to dissolve. 

“Yeah, wait, which one of you am I supposed to threaten not to break the other’s heart or something?” Shitty demands, then immediately decides. “Okay, actually, both of you: Don’t fuck up.” 

Bitty hears a sound that he’s pretty sure is Ransom and Holster high-fiving, and then someone slaps him on the back and Holster congratulates them both, really excitedly, and this is too much. 

Jack’s voice answers Lardo’s question. “Uhh. Mm. Since approximately right now.” And Bitty is relieved to hear shyness and probably embarrassment in that voice because he’s glad he’s not the only one who doesn’t know what the fuck is going on here. 

No one says anything, and Bitty switches to dropping spoonfuls of pie filling on top of each partially-filled muffin cup. What the fuck _is_ going on here? What did Jack just do? Why did he—? Why was everyone else happy? Why do they all think he’s dating Jack? What is—what? 

Shitty’s voice breaks the tense silence. “Jack, gimme the pie muffins. If any of the rest of you want any, you gotta fight me for ’em.” 

_/\\_ _/\\_

Jack is still raking his left hand through his hair when Shitty grabs the bowl of muffins from his right and speeds out of the kitchen, Ransom, Holster, and Lardo trailing after him like ducklings. Lardo pulls the door shut as far as it will go behind her, and now he is alone in the kitchen with Bittle. 

His heart is—not pounding, exactly, but beating rapidly, and he takes a deep breath to steady himself. In for eight, out for eight. Let’s go, Zimmermann. 

He had only moved a step or two away from Bittle, so he takes those steps back and rests his right hand on Bittle’s left shoulder. Bittle keeps messing with the muffin tin. 

“Bittle,” he says. “Talk to me.” 

Bittle doesn’t talk, but he doesn’t shrug Jack’s hand off, either. He does set aside the bowl of muffin batter and his spoon. 

“Okay, um.” Jack falters a little. “Bitty, _look_ at me? Please?” he adds with a little pull on Bitty’s shoulder to encourage him. 

Bitty doesn’t resist at all, but when he turns around, he doesn’t look up. Jack looks down at the top of Bitty’s head, and Bitty makes excellent eye-contact with Jack’s shoulder. 

Jack waits. Bitty still doesn’t say anything. He is breathing normally, though, and he’s not making a break for upstairs, so there’s that. 

“My—” _eyes are up here,_ Jack almost chirps, before deciding this is not the moment. 

“I—” _really thought I was reading you right._

Jack scrambles around his brain looking for words that mean what he wants but are also willing to leave his mouth. 

“Do you—” _say those things to everybody?_

“Um.” _Tabarnac, Zimmermann, grow a pair._

_Are we_ “…okay?” 

“Uh—” Bitty squeaks a little and clears his throat. “No?” he offers. “Not really, not at all?” Calisse de crisse de fucking tabarnac de marde, you’ve got to be _shitting_ me, Jack thinks. In for eight, out for eight. 

“Bittle, I— I’m so sorry, I misunderstood, I— I—” Mortified, Jack lets his hand fall away and squeezes it into a fist by his side instead. “What happened?” 

Bittle clears his throat again and brings a hand up to the back of his neck, calling unnecessary attention to how flushed it is. “Why did you kiss me?” he asks, sounding almost resigned. 

Jack is nervous as hell but that doesn’t stop him from chirping a little. “Uh, I think I get to ask that first, eh?” 

Then he releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Bitty still hasn’t looked up, so Jack can’t be completely sure, but he could practically hear the smile as Bitty punched him lightly in the chest and muttered, “Fuckin’ Canadian.” 

But then Bitty takes his hand back and scrubs his face and sighs, and Jack’s heart seizes up. He had meant to tease and smooth things over, not rattle them up again. 

“Look, Jack, I— I’m sorry,” Bitty tells the floor. “I don’t know what came over me, it was completely out of place, I just— wasn’t thinking…” He trails off, sounding so sad and ashamed, and Jack reaches back out to grasp Bitty’s shoulder again, hoping that it’s reassuring. 

“Please tell me you are lying,” he breathes, and if Bitty hadn’t looked up right then, Jack might have lifted his face up like something out of one of Holster’s ridiculous movies. But Bitty does look up, eyes wide with apprehension. 

“Please tell me you’re lying,” Jack repeats, “because I just spent the past fifteen minutes working up the nerve to kiss you back, and I’m going to feel like a— if you didn’t mean it I—” 

He searches Bitty’s face for some sign of recognition, but Bitty’s still not talking. Jack runs his free hand through his hair and down the back of his neck. “Do you— God, Bitty, do you understand how attractive you are?” 

Bitty shakes his head, whether in disbelief or disagreement Jack’s not sure, though the deer-in-the-headlights look is dying down now, and Bitty’s starting to blush again. Calisse. 

Jack can’t stop himself, now, from reaching out and running a thumb over Bitty’s cheek. “You’re as red as a pie filling, Bittle. I really thought—” Jack pulls his hand back as Bittle is shaking his head and pulling away. Jack lowers both his hands to his sides and squeezes them into fists. “I really thought I’d read this right.” 

_/\\_ _/\\_

Shitty was trying to be a good friend by getting everyone out of the kitchen. He’s not sure what he missed such that Jack was kissing Bitty in front of the rest of the Haus, but evidently some things needed sorting out without everyone else’s eyes on them. 

Everyone else’s ears are another matter. The kitchen door never closes all the way, and it’s not like the walls are soundproof. Additionally, although the muffins are delicious (Fuckin’ A, Bits, how has no one thought of fuckin’ pie muffins before? Damn.), enough of them went to crumbs that they weren’t really sufficient for four people’s breakfast. 

Also, Lardo wants coffee. 

So by unspoken agreement, after unrelated small talk has failed to keep them from eavesdropping, all four of them are standing behind the door, waiting for the moment when it is safe to return. 

“I really thought I’d read this right,” Shitty hears Jack mutter, and goddammit, Shitty thought Jack had read that right, too. Sure, it’s not like Bitty _talks_ about his feelings, but Shitty has eyes. 

(He also has the decency not to get involved in other people’s personal lives when he’s not invited—and most of the time even if he is, because get real, who wants to be in the middle of all that shit?—but if anyone had asked what he thought… Well, he wouldn’t have said anything, because he’s a fuckin’ gentleman, and bros don’t gossip about their bros.) 

“But…Camilla?” says Bitty’s quiet voice. Fuck, the kid sounds like a kicked puppy. “Didn’t you—I mean, I know you guys weren’t super serious, and she’s only one person, but you don’t really date much so it’s hard to judge, and she—well, _she_ is pretty different from me, I thought—well, I thought I...wouldn’t be your...type...” 

Jack blows out a long, slow breath but doesn’t actually say any words for, like, a whole lot of seconds, and Shitty revises his opinion about staying out of other people’s personal lives. Jack will forgive him this. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Bitty,” Shitty says, pushing the door open. “Don’t you know that bi people exist?” 

Jack turns around to look at him, and Bitty steps to the side since Jack makes a better door than a window. Bitty is staring at him, slack-jawed, and Jack just looks overwhelmed. 

“Gosh, of course!” Bitty starts. “I—” 

Lardo brushes past Shitty to get into the kitchen, cutting Bitty off. “Congrats, Bits,” she says, punching first Bitty then Jack in the shoulder. “You did something stupid and/or really brave and it worked out for you. Now take your nice new boyfriend back upstairs and let the rest of us get some coffee.” 

Her voice is scratchy and she’s rubbing her eyes. Shitty feels a _little_ bad about how late they were up playing their patented Mythbusters drinking game, but not _that_ bad, because it was rad as hell. Also Lardo is cute when she’s sleepy in the morning, especially when she’s spent the night in a giant blanket nest on his floor and convinced him to do the same, and he can’t even be mad about the crick in his neck when he wakes up. 

This is the other reason Shitty stays out of people’s personal lives: so that they have no excuse to get involved in his. He’s not really sure what his relationship with Lardo is, and he’s not really sure what he wants it to become, but it’s good. And it doesn’t need other people involved. 

“You know what?” Lardo continues, starting to hit her stride. “Stay here and have coffee with us, but maybe stop fighting over whether you like each other or not? Because you two are the last to get on this wagon. The ship has sailed. The train has left the station. What other vehicular metaphors do you want?” 

Shitty, Ransom, and Holster all snicker at this, and, Shitty is pleased to see, even Jack is fighting a smile. 

“Or hell, go have your fight on the other side of the room, even, but _you are standing in front of the coffee maker. And it’s getting cold._ ” She finishes by poking them both emphatically in the chest, then stepping back and putting on her best impatient manager face. 

Shitty smiles fondly and tries not to giggle. Jack runs a hand through his hair and down the back of his neck again, laughing awkwardly, then steps around her toward the door, and therefore toward Shitty, who hastily steps backward onto Holster’s toes. 

“Move!” Shitty whispers, and pushes gently back into Ransom and Holster as they try to clear the doorway. 

“Bittle, you comin’?” Jack asks, turning his head back into the kitchen. 

In front of Lardo, who is finally filling her coffee mug, Bitty has his head in his hands, shaking it back and forth almost imperceptibly. “Oh my _Lord,_ ” he groans, starting for the door. 

Shitty tries to hold in a grin and twiddles his fingers at Jack as he passes. Bittty misses the twiddling and Jack’s middle fingers in return, but Shitty does not miss the awed smile on Bitty’s face when he finally looks up so as not to trip on the stairs. Fuckin’ get it, Bits, Shitty thinks. And Jack. Just fuckin’ be happy, okay? 

Ransom and Holster push past Shitty into the kitchen now, too, and Shitty follows them in, heading for coffee himself. 

“Bro, did you ever find any oranges?” Ransom asks Holster. 

Holster opens the fridge. “Yeah, man. I’ll grab you one. And text Nursey, will you? He owes me ten bucks since they got their shit together before spring break.” 

Shitty sloshes some coffee over the side of his mug. “You had a fuckin’ bet on this?” 

Ransom looks up from his phone. “Wait, bro, how were you not in on it? Yeah, D lines have had an eye on them for a couple months.” 

“Well, not Lance or Jonesy,” Holster cuts in, “because they think team matchmaking is creepy.” 

“But it’s not matchmaking if we’re just passively betting,” Ransom answers. “I need to text Chowder, too. He didn’t bet, but you know he’ll lose his shit if we don’t tell him.” 

Shitty is wiping up the spilled coffee and praying to whatever deities may or may not be listening that no one is making bets on him and Lardo, mostly because he doesn’t know what the winning bet would be. “Betting is still kinda creepy, brah. Just…if you’re sharing the news already, make sure no one’s gonna give them a hard time at practice in the morning, okay?” he asks Ransom. 

He looks over at Lardo, who meets his eyes and nods. “I don’t really want to be involved,” she says as she drains her mug into her mouth, “but if there’s excessive shit given tomorrow, I might accidentally leave some jerseys out of the wash…” Her eyebrows go up in a silent _try me,_ and Shitty grins. Note to self: don’t ever piss her off. 

_/\\_ _/\\_

When Shitty goes looking for a new pack of hair ties in the bathroom that afternoon, he may or may not overhear them marveling at the ability to kiss and talk about all their previous pining. And if he peeks around the door with his phone camera and catches the two of them curled up on Jack’s bed, Bitty’s head on Jack’s chest, well… _he_ at least waits a day before the pictures show up in the group text.

**Author's Note:**

> Bitty's Sunday morning pump-up playlist, including the songs he didn't quite get to since Jack interrupted, can be heard [here](http://8tracks.com/jenesaispourquoi/sundays-with-betsy) with tracklist [here](http://jenesaispourquoi.tumblr.com/post/112374198161/a-mix-to-get-you-going-for-the-week-goes-with).
> 
> I tried very hard with the quebecois, but if I messed anything up, please tell me :)


End file.
